


sit down here for another day

by liamnoel



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: Angst angst angst angst angst, Casual Drug Use, M/M, Sibling Incest, Smut, reuploaded from lj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamnoel/pseuds/liamnoel
Summary: This is how Liam spends his first week without Noel.1990





	sit down here for another day

**Author's Note:**

> reuploading all my stories to here because livejournal is owned by russia now or something and i'm not taking a chance on that

Liam spends roughly fifty-two weeks without Noel. More than they’d ever been apart in his entire life. And if the first week’s any indication of what’s to come, Liam knows it will only get worse.  
  


●●●

  
On Sunday, the sheets are cold and Liam finds he’s shivering.  
  
This was usually the time when he’d either find Noel wrapped around him, ‘accidentally’ together since the night before, or across the room, when he’d crawl into his brother’s bed and poke him in the ribs till he wrinkled his nose and mumbled at him. Sometimes he was angry, _You mad fucking cunt, what’re you doin’, fucker_ , but his eyes were always smiling and Liam would get his good-morning kiss, as vital to him as oxygen, he’d thought.  
  
Noel’s bed is unmade still. There’s a fading stain right in the middle of it, where Liam had come as Noel fucked him on his stomach last night.  
  
Liam goes to the pub at eight and brings a girl home at ten, shushing her as they tiptoe up the stairs to the bedroom. She sits on his lap and grinds around till he’s hard; he pushes her off him and proceeds to finger her till she’s panting relentlessly, reaching down to stroke his dick but not accomplishing much as her fingers flex then go slack again and again. Before the girl’s even close to coming, Liam notices he’s listening to Noel play guitar in his mind, both for memory’s sake, so he doesn’t forget it, and to block out the bird’s moans, which he now finds annoying.  
  
She makes him come but it’s close to awful; nothing on her part, he thinks. They kiss and he politely shows her out the door. He sits against it and digs his nails into his palms, picturing Noel’s calloused fingers and he swears he can feel them ghost across his jaw.  
  


●●●

  
On Monday, Liam wakes at eleven but doesn’t get out of bed till half-past four. He puts the kettle on downstairs, but after taking a sip of his tea he lets it go cold as he stares out the kitchen window at the bins in the street. Noel used to make him his tea, and it doesn’t taste the same without him there.  
  
He spends the next seven hours doing absolutely nothing; Guigsy rings and tells him he’s heading to the city centre and would he like to come with, Liam tells him not to wait up. He walks up and down the stairs twenty-seven times, touching all the pictures of Noel as he goes by, only vaguely registering what he’s doing and how it’d be considered insane by most.  
  
He leaves the radio on for two hours; the announcers are shit, the music’s shit, _everything’s_ shit but he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn the fucking thing off. Paul comes home from work and laughs at his younger brother sitting with his back against the foot of the couch, humming a forgotten tune, eyes glazed over. Liam considers punching him, but decides against it, huffing and slamming the front door instead. He spends approximately nine seconds outside before realizing he has nowhere to go.  
  
He’s hungry but can’t stomach anything. He chews on ice instead, till his teeth chatter and his lips are numb; it feels how it did when Noel used to kiss him roughly, for hours on end, and this makes Liam so angry he wishes he could scream, and would, were it not for the confusion and ridicule he’d receive from Paul.  
  
Their mother returns around eleven-thirty and Liam’s curled up on the couch, TV blaring static. He’s staring right at it and as his mam admonishes him and turns it off, _What’s the matter with you, Liam,_ he assures her he’s alright. She surely knows he’s not. Liam gives her a peck on the cheek and heads upstairs, where he curls up the same way in his brother’s bed, nose stuck to the pillow to coax a bit of Noel’s scent out of it. Only this can put him to sleep.  
  


●●●

  
On Tuesday it rains. Liam goes outside anyway, smoking the six cigarettes left in his pack before nicking another from the shop down the road, somehow managing to get in and out while the attendant’s in the back room. He walks to the park, where he proceeds to throw acorns at the cars passing by. _Gallagher with the acorn,_ Noel had said once, _He shoots – he scores,_ impersonating a football commentator. Liam’s aim had gone to shit as he laughed, telling Noel he was stupid and staring at his lips.  
  
Once he’d asked Noel to kiss him, right out there in broad daylight, in front of all the cars and the people and the trees and the acorns. The older brother had simply snorted, a short, sarcastic laugh. Liam knew he wanted it too. And though they couldn’t do anything more, his heart had jumped a bit when he felt a hand rest against his own as they sat against the wrought-iron fence.  
  
Eight cigarettes later he heads back home; it’s not raining anymore but the sky’s a dark, chalky grey. A lad on the street asks him where he got his shirt – _cool as fuck,_ it reads, above a sketch of a cow wearing dark shades and puffing on a fag – and Liam gives him a black eye, running like a coward when the boy gapes at him in shock and pulls back his own fist to reciprocate.  
  
Back home, he thinks about how disappointed Noel would be in him for starting a fight then running. _Who gives a fuck what he thinks. Not me, no._  
  
It’s dark out now;  Liam shuts the lights off, picks out a record of Noel’s at random and puts it on the turntable. It’s the Beatles, 67-70.  
  
Liam listens to the first side then lays silently for a half-hour, too mentally exhausted to change the record or turn the player off.  
  
He dreams that he’s John and Noel is Paul, but he knows all too well how it will end.  
  


●●●

  
On Wednesday Liam sits down to write a letter to Noel, giving up after throwing a few crumpled pieces of paper to the bin. Being out of school for the past year has apparently caught up to him just now; he feels idiotic and reckons he must be spelling every other word wrong. It also dawns on him that even if he _could_ finish a letter, he’d have nowhere to send it. Noel has no home now. Liam isn’t quite sure he has one either.  
  
Later, he goes to the pub, bored out of his mind. None of his mates are there, but he still drinks enough pints to get him laughing and stumbling, a caricature of a good time.  
  
Tonight he notices there’s a young man in the corner staring him down. Usually the stares he gets are followed by a fight, but as Liam staggers past to use the toilet he recognizes the look on the man’s face as lust, shameless and hungry. He’s got a mop-top that hangs in front of his eyes.  
  
Liam trails him as he leaves the bar, and they walk in silence to the stranger’s flat, not far from Liam’s own home. His jacket is removed once they’re inside; there’s no time for bullshit now, so before the man can open his mouth to spew some meaningless line, some God-awful small talk, Liam grabs him through his jeans, earning a groan.  
  
The bloke’s got a decent-sized prick; not as big as Noel’s, but still enough to be a challenge. Liam sucks him off quicker than he’s ever done before, finding that though he’d initially craved that familiar heat in his mouth, it now feels foreign and wrong. He’s disgusted as cum hits the back of his tongue, impulsively spitting it onto the wood floor. Luckily, the stranger is just as pissed as himself and merely chuckles at this.  
  
“What, never tasted spunk before?”  
  
“No,” Liam lies.  
  
“How’re you so fuckin’ good at _that_ , then?”  
  
“I’m good at everything, me.”  
  
Liam says goodnight to the stranger, who seems disappointed, and walks home, half-hard, willing away the sour aftertaste in his throat. He remembers how Noel used to rub his cock around Liam’s lips sometimes, after he’d come all over them, and he’d say _D’you like that?_ and Liam would nod enthusiastically because of course he fucking did.  
  


●●●

  
On Thursday, Liam sleeps in late again. He’s dreaming about Noel.  
  
It’s nothing but a montage of memories, sweet then sad then erotic then angry then content. Noel kissing him on the forehead while he washes off Liam’s scraped knee. A cuddle when Noel’s staring out the window, missing his ex-girlfriend.  
  
The time they had the house to themselves for a few days, Paul and their mam visiting relatives; Noel’d had work for the Carpets the last two so he’d had to stay back, and Liam threw a fit till their mother shook her head, arms up in surrender, _Alright, alright, do what you want, I can’t stop you._ As soon as they’d left, the brothers spent an hour snogging on the carpet in the upstairs hallway.  
  
They made beans on toast and watched sitcoms; Liam laid his head in Noel’s lap and was soon nuzzling and kissing him through his trousers. He unzipped them just enough and licked slowly at his brother’s cock for twenty minutes, till Noel was pressing his fingers into the back of his neck and groaning endlessly in that low, whiny voice that Liam knew only he was privileged to hear; not even all the birds Noel shagged could bring these sounds out of him.  
  
The next morning, Liam poured himself a bowl of Weetabix but soon decided he was hungrier for release and let his cereal go soggy as he rode his brother on the creaky kitchen chair. _I can’t get enough of you,_ Noel admitted, _I always want more._ Liam had laughed and laughed and sighed as he went weak in the other boy’s arms, resting there with Noel still inside him, their hearts beating frantically against one another. _You fucking whore,_ Noel whispered in his ear, and Liam smacked him but didn’t deny it. He loved feeling dirty, used and satisfied and most of all _wanted_ by the one he loved the most.  
  
When the sun went down, they walked to the cinema, Noel surprising his brother by having extra quid on hand to treat them to candy and cola. Liam had smiled at the way his brother’s arm rested over the back of his seat as they watched the film, his fingers sometimes brushing themselves aimlessly through the younger’s hair. Afterwards, Liam convinced him that a snog in the toilets was a good idea, and they were nearly caught by an elderly man, quickly simulating a punch-up to cover their tracks.  
  
Snow fell as they walked home together, hand in hand in the empty Burnage streets.  
  
The dream shifts now, though, and they’re fighting. Not a joke fight, not a wrestle but a real, passionate argument, Noel snarling, Liam’s saliva hitting the elder’s face as he shouts back at him. Liam had borrowed his brother’s guitar while he was out, accidentally snapping the highest string as he tried to contort his fingers correctly. _You stupid little cunt, I’ve got no money till next week, what the fuck am I supposed to do till then?!_  
  
Liam remembers how he initially felt remorse; _It was an accident, man, I’m fucking sorr–_  
  
Noel had laughed harshly, _No, you’re fucking not, you prick, you don’t care about anyone but yourself._ Now Liam was fuming, and opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off. _No, not this fucking time Liam, I don’t want to listen to a word you’ve got to say. Fuck off._  
  
I love you, Liam thought. I need you. I’m sorry. I hate you. I hate you. _I fuckin’ hate you!_  
  
_Don’t waste your breath. Get the fuck out of my face._  
  
Liam hadn’t moved. Noel had given him a black eye before he had time to react, then left the house; he didn’t return for a day and a half. Liam stewed, taking his anger out on Paul, and on a mate who stopped by to ask if he fancied a football match, and nearly on his mam before he stopped himself and went upstairs to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror.  
  
The black eye suited him.  
  
Noel suited him.  
  
When the older brother returned, he was still grimacing, just as Liam had expected; but as the younger boy bit his lip, eyes full of sorrow, Noel’s gaze softened. _Kid, it’s alright, I know it was an accident, and you’re fucking stupid but I–_  
  
Liam stopped him. _I love you._ A step closer. _I love you._ Noel shut their bedroom door, his baby brother, quickly surpassing his height now, pressing him up against it. _You fuckin’ arse._  
  
Noel held him, then, and if it weren’t for that confusing lust that had somehow tangled itself into their lives, he’d have felt just as he did ten years ago, holding Liam to take away his pain.  
  
Liam wakes up smiling until he remembers he’s alone.  
  


●●●

  
On Friday, the phone rings and Liam knows who it is a split second after his mother says _Hello?_  
  
He remains where he is, sitting on the couch with a football match on, but all he’s listening to is what’s happening on the telephone, picking up his mother’s phrases and only imagining what his brother must be saying over the phone. He feels rage rising in his chest but can’t get up to move. If he could let himself cry, he would, but his arse of a father ruined that instinct for him years ago.  
  
And finally, as he knew it would, the moment comes when his mother leans her head into the living room and asks him if he’d like to speak to his brother.  
  
Liam says nothing. He trudges upstairs to his room and lays face-down on the bed, getting up after ten minutes and writing his first song, entitled “You Stupid Cunt”. It’s absolute shit. He spits on Noel’s pillowcase and kicks the wall, stubbing his toe and stifling a shout.  
  
After dinner, which is probably delicious but is rendered tasteless to Liam, he walks to the next street and spends the last of his money on pot. He pulls his papers out of his pocket, picking out the stems and sprinkling the pot inside it. His joint-rolling is shit, it always has been because he’s always had Noel there, and he rolled fantastic ones. Liam gives up halfway through and empties a cigarette, shoving the pot in there instead and smoking it in the back garden.  
  
After retreating indoors, mumbling a quiet goodnight to his mother, he flips the pillow on Noel’s bed and pulls the blanket over himself. Being high is one of Liam’s favourite things in the world, but it’s not nearly as fun when he’s on his own; his brother is his favourite person to be high with, for the things he says and the way neither of them can stop laughing for _hours_ on end and how warm his body feels and the sweet taste on their tongues and, most of all, the way it feels when Noel touches him.  
  
He can’t help himself. He’s reaching under his waistband and gripping the hardness there and gasping as he spreads the precum with his thumb. He’s half aware that he’s softly groaning his brother’s name, but he doesn’t care. _I love you. I hate you. I need you._  
  
His mind drifts. He’s remembering how they were high the first time Noel fingered him; it’s been a favourite activity of the younger brother’s ever since. The smoke swirling in his brain always relaxed his inner muscles, taking away the pain and leaving him only with pleasure. Liam wouldn’t dare to do it himself; he knows he could never do it as well as Noel could.  
  
He’s tempted now, though, as much as he’s ever been. He misses the feeling of that spot being hit, misses it like he never thought he would and if Noel were here he’d surely be begging for him. A whiny brat as is, Liam’s even worse while he’s inebriated, and it affects every aspect of him, sex notwithstanding. (Sometimes, though, Liam played it up; he knew Noel craved to hear him talking dirty, pleading for his cock. He could see it in his eyes.)  
  
Liam’s biting his lip now, running over it with his front teeth again and again till it’s raw. All he can see, all he can hear is Noel, Noel, _Noel–_  
  
_Mm, what is it?_  
  
_…Noel…_  
  
_Yeah? C’mon, wha–_  
  
_Need you, Noely, please – plea-oh, c’mon, man, fuckin’ – just–_  
  
_Y’know, I won’t know what you want unless you tell me._ Back in the present, Liam turns his face to the pillow to block a moan. ( _You bastard, Noel, you goddamn liar,_ Liam thinks. _You always know what I want._ )  
  
_Noel!_  
  
_Just tell me, kid. I want to hear you say it._  
  
_…in me, Noel – yer – yer fuckin’ – yer fingers, get ‘em–_ Liam remembers how he’d reached down for Noel’s left hand, which had been softly rubbing at his waist, and brought it to his mouth, two of his brother’s fingers pushing past his lips and slaved over by the younger boy’s tongue.  
  
_Fuckin’ ‘ell, Liam – you really–_  
  
_Yes, I really – fuck – now, Noely, now…_  
  
It had tickled more than it hurt. Liam’s mind, thoroughly stoned, had savoured how fucking perverted he felt, knowing it was his big brother’s fingertips rubbing against some goddamn nerve inside him, his vocal cords seemingly suspended by the pleasure and the shock. As Noel pulled the digits all the way out of him then slid them back inside, Liam’s mouth fell open, the older boy’s right hand flying up just in time to cover it as a series of, well, _screams_ came out. Liam came some minutes later without any other stimulation; he smiled and admired his brother’s gorgeous blue eyes, staring at him while the mess on his stomach was swept up by Noel’s tongue. (He never did that when he was sober; just another advantage to getting high.)  
  
It doesn’t take much more than this memory for Liam to groan out a breathy _Nnnnnnnnoel_ and finish all over his lower belly. The sun’s setting and he falls asleep, hand still shoved down inside his pants.  
  


●●●

  
On Saturday, Liam mentally curses himself for falling asleep so quickly, climbing into the shower to wash off the dried fluid on his stomach. He thinks about hickies and, without a second thought, latches his mouth to his shoulder, giving himself one. He looks in the mirror when he’s towelling off and it’s a deep purple, tinged with reds throughout. He knocks his head against the bathroom wall, ashamed.  
  
Upon arriving downstairs, a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter catches Liam’s eye. It’s a phone number and he knows he won’t stop himself from calling it.  
  
After six rings, he finally hears a sleepy “…hello?”  
  
Liam’s heart skips.  
  
“It’s me.”  
  
There’s a long pause; Liam thinks he hears a yawn. He suddenly realizes that though it’s almost noon here, it’s the middle of the night wherever Noel is across the sea. “Well, what is it?”  
  
He frowns. “Sorry if I woke you, man.”  
  
“You did.”  
  
_When did talking to him become such an effort?_ “So how’s things, then?”  
  
“Cut the shit, kid, I’m no stranger. If we’re gonna talk, you’ve gotta _talk_ to me.”  
  
This brings a smile to Liam’s face. “I fuckin’ know.”  
  
They talk for almost three hours until Noel insists he’s got to go to bed, for real this time. Liam’s saddened by this but really, he knows they can’t talk forever; he chooses not to believe it, but he knows.  
  
He can feel Noel smiling, bittersweet. “I’ll call you when I can, alright?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’ll stay out of trouble, then?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Liam.”  
  
“I miss you.”  
  
A sigh. “I know. I mis–”  
  
“I love you.” Liam barely chokes it out.  
  
Silence; then, “Tell Mam and Paul I say ‘ello, yeah?”  
  
Fingernails dig into palms. “…yeah.”  
  
“Alright. G’bye, Liam.”  
  
“Sweet dreams, Noely.”  
  
Fifty-one more weeks.  
  
Liam promises himself that he’s going to forget him.


End file.
